Classroom Of The Elite White Room 소설 & 이야기

"Axel, I would never—" "You just did," I growled, turning on my heel and walking away. The party was over for me. I couldn’t care less what happened the rest of the night. Moving through the restricted wing of the house, I texted Baron: "Keep an eye on Ryan. Make sure everything goes smoothly. I’m done with the party." I hit send and made my way to the dungeon. The white room. A place designed to break the mind before the body. Four white walls, white floors, white ceiling, and white bed—devoid of anything that could ground a person. There was a hidden compartment filled with instruments meant for pain and control. A space forgotten by most.

His gaze switched to the card, he passed it to another man, who passed it through a machine, it beeped red. “Cleared, her invitation is on the top floor, private room 12.” Came the tone of the man, with the machine. The man’s jaw flexed, the one at the front, “Welcome to sexy red.” He told, and they all stepped away, paving the way for me, inside through. Private room 12, the word ring in my head, why would Professor Grey book a private room. Entering the place, my eyes wheeled with the decor of the place and the type of luxury which the place screamed at my face, it wasn’t everytime I got to step out from the parish and enter such a place.

The late afternoon sun shone gently through the tall windows of Rosewood Elite Class, a place for the best students and children from rich families. The walls were cream colored and shiny, with gold decorations and fancy moldings. The furniture looked like it belonged in a five star hotel well polished wood with glass tops, soft leather chairs in royal blue, and long velvet curtains in light blue. Each desk had a screen built into the wood for private reading and lessons. A small but elegant chandelier hung in the middle of the room, casting a warm light over the students sitting in neat rows.

worse meaning too beautiful to be real. White marble floors, curved staircase, gold fixtures. Everything was soft and quiet and expensive, there were large paintings she couldn’t understand, plants that looked fake but probably weren’t, and not a speck of dust in sight. She followed Lena up the stairs, passing what looked like a full library, an indoor bar, a hallway of glass doors leading to the rooftop. “Your room is here,” Lena said, opening a door just across from another one. “That’s his.” Of course it was.

(Elena POV) The first thing I felt was light. Not warmth… not comfort… Just a blinding, sterile white light that stabbed behind my eyelids like needles. I gasped awake. A cold surface pressed against my back. Smooth. Seamless. Too perfect to be anything natural. My fingers twitched and brushed something that felt like tempered glass. I forced my eyes open. And froze. The room around me wasn’t a room at all it was a pod. A cylindrical glass chamber lit from the inside by soft blue strips of light embedded in the floor. I was lying on an elevated platform, no blankets, no restraints, but… no exits either.

The office was on the top floor of a glass building. Everything was steel, white, and quiet. Elena followed a silent assistant down a long hallway. Her shoes made no sound on the thick carpet. She felt like she was walking into a spaceship, or a very expensive tomb. The assistant opened a double door and gestured inside. Elena stepped through. The room was huge, with a wall of windows showing all of New York City. The view was breathtaking. It made her feel very small.

Tall. Familiar. But just out of frame. Helena’s knees buckled. She didn’t know what scared her more: The photo. Or the fact that she knew whoever took it… Was still watching her. The light from Tessy’s phone flickered across the dust-covered floor of the abandoned counseling wing. The White Room was colder than the rest of the school—colder and strangely quiet, like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

Before he unlocked it, he looked back. “Remember, Lena. You asked to see.” The key turned. The door opened. White light spilled into the corridor. I stepped inside. And stopped breathing. The room was white. Not metaphorically. Not just stone and cloth. White marble walls. White floors. White curtains drawn across narrow windows. White candles in silver holders. White bowls on a white table. White cloth folded with ceremonial precision. And in the center of the room stood a silver chair. Not a throne. Not exactly.

The architectural structure of EliteCorp was nothing short of divine. From the outside, it was shaped like a giant seashell standing with its butt in the air. Elena wondered what engineer was behind this queer design. Inside, the walls were pure white and looked as if they were coated with bioluminescence paint because they reflected the white lights so brilliantly Elena hankered to touch them. But she must not. She must be on her best behavior and impress Mr. Liam. She must not 'mess' things up.

She laughed incredulously. “You’re ridiculous.” ****** The elevator ride felt strangely suspenseful. Clara leaned back against the polished wall, arms folded, studying Evan. “How big is this room exactly?” He lifted his shoulders. “Decent size.” “That answer worries me.” The elevator chimed softly as the doors opened on the top floor. A quiet hallway stretched ahead of them, lined with elegant carpets and soft golden lighting. Clara’s footsteps slowed slightly. “Why do I feel like I’m about to see something insane?”